Slaves of Mephitis
by Susan M. M
Summary: Slaves desperate for freedom hire Mal Reynolds to help them escape.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard fanfic disclaimer** that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: Based on characters and situations created by Joss Whedon. No attempt to violate his copyrights, just ... uh, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. All characters will be returned to the Joss-man, suitably bandaged, as soon as I'm done with them. Originally printed in the fanzine Of Dreams and Schemes #20

**The Slaves of Mephitis**

by Susan M. M.

a _Firefly _story

based on characters and situations created by Joss Whedon

{rated PG-13}

"Mighty fine dinner," Captain Mal Reynolds complimented his host. The captain-owner of the Firefly-class spaceship _Serenity_ was a brown-haired man in his mid-thirties.

"The least we can do, after you brought our grain in ahead of schedule," replied Patron Noé Santiago. The plantation owner was a chubby fellow with curly black hair. "Of course, I am lucky in owning a good cook."

His wife, Patrona Cecilia Santiago, turned to one of the other guests. "Don't you say a word, Carlos. Jan isn't for sale."

"I'll give you a fair price for her," Patron Carlos Gonzalez-Zimmerman said in the tones of a man who'd made the same offer many times before, and been turned down each time.

The subject of their discussion, an auburn-haired woman in her thirties, refilled wine glasses. Her face was as blank as if the dinner party were still discussing the quadro-triticale seeds Malcolm Reynolds had delivered.

Thunder roared. The lights flickered, then came back on a second later.

"Perhaps the next time you return to Mephitis, Captain Reynolds, you should bring generators instead of grain," suggested another plantation owner.

Mal shrugged. "I'll haul any cargo I can get a good price for." Seeing some of the patronas frowning at his mention of anything as crass as profit, he added mendaciously, "Of course, the cargo is just an excuse for me to go meanderin' through the stars."

Through the bay windows, lightning flashed repeatedly. The power went off again, leaving only the candlelight. Jan disappeared, returning a few moments later with additional candles.

"The storm is growing worse, patron. Shall I have the guest bedrooms prepared?" she asked.

Santiago nodded. She curtsied and left the room.

"Now that the lights are out, perhaps this would be an appropriate time for you to tell us of some of your adventures, Captain Reynolds," suggested one of the patronas. Mal couldn't remember if she was Patrona Chan-Mercado or Patrona Garcia-Lee; he'd been introduced to too many plantation owners and their wives to keep all the names straight. "With a storm howling and the lights out, surely that's best time to tell stories about Reavers."

Mal shook his head. "I know plenty of stories about Reavers, but ain't none of them fit for decent company." He pulled his communicator out of his pocket. "Would you excuse me a moment, while I let my ship know I'll be delayed?"

**## ### ## ###**

Mal looked up when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. "Enter."

Jan came into the room. She dropped a curtsy. Her auburn hair was out of its bun; instead it hung loose about her shoulders. Her bodice had been loosened, providing a much more interesting view than he'd seen at dinner. "Is there anything the captain needs? Wine, tea, …anything?"

"That depends. Did Patron Santiago send you, or are you askin' on your own?"

"Does it make a difference?" she asked.

"Does to me," Mal said.

She smiled. "The patron doesn't know I'm here. Is there … anything I can do for you? If I'm disturbing you, I can leave. You may report my insolence to the patron in the morning." He didn't reply right away. She curtsied again, lower this time. "I apologize for disturbing you, Captain."

"You ain't disturbin' me."

Jan began unlacing her bodice.

**## ### ## ###**

"I have a proposition for you, Captain Reynolds," Jan said an hour later.

"Oh? I was under the impression you already propositioned me." Mal lay on one arm, caressing her hair.

"A business proposition," she clarified. "Now that you've delivered the quadro-triticale, your ship's holds are empty. How many slaves could you fit in the holds?"

"Stealin' slaves is against the law," Mal pointed out. As far as the government was concerned, helping slaves escape was the same as stealing them. "You gave me a mighty fine tumble in the hay, but not enough to risk the law on my back." He was already wanted for several offenses, but slave stealing wasn't one of them … yet.

"We can pay. Two hundred platinum. Plus me, or any other female who pleases you, to warm your bed until we reach a safe planet. Any planet."

"What would happen if I told Santiago about your business proposition at breakfast tomorrow?"

"The patron would offer you the choice of whipping me yourself, or watching as he had me flogged. There might also be a cash reward," she acknowledged. There was also a good chance that the patron might sell her to the Gonzalez-Zimmermans, but she didn't think that would interest him.

"As much as two hundred platinum?"

She shook her head. "Fifty, perhaps seventy-five."

"What's to keep me from takin' your money, and then re-sellin' y'all when we hit dirtside?"

"Absolutely nothing," she admitted.

The dark-haired star wanderer thought a moment. "If thirty-forty slaves disappear same time as I lift off, they'll know it's me. Santiago and the other patrons will have the law after me in a heartbeat. Even if I escaped the Alliance patrols, I'd never be able to do business on Mephitis again."

Jan looked at him, praying silently.

"If I leave a communicator with you, could you keep it hid for two-three weeks?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then I'll sneak back in a few weeks. Forty people max – fewer would be better. You'll be sleepin' on cold metal decks, with slim rations and a long wait for the bathroom," Mal warned her. "You pay me that two hundred platinum now, and another two hundred when I come back."

"No, Captain."

"No?"

"We're stealing the money from the patron. If we steal it right before we escape, he won't notice until it's too late. But two thefts – one now and one when we run, even an idiot like the patron couldn't help but notice that. Security would be tightened as soon as the theft was discovered. We'd never be able to escape."

"As much as I've enjoyed your company, your feminine charms aren't enough to reserve my ship for a venture this risky."

"What if I had her lady's-maid steal some of the patrona's jewelry? Would that reserve passage?"

"Might could. If it's the real thing, and not just costume jewelry."

"The patrona would never be caught dead in costume jewelry," Jan assured him. She did not mention that the lady's-maid would be flogged when the jewelry couldn't be found; freedom was worth a few stripes.

"We have a deal. I'll give you my communicator before I go. I'll contact you when I get back."

**## ### ## ###**

It was more than a month before _Serenity_ returned to Mephitis. First they went to Tuckaleechee, to sell the flour and woolen goods they'd picked up on Mephitis, and to fence Patrona Santiago's pearl necklace for one hundred and ten plat. Then on to Mundorojo, with the computer parts they'd gotten at Tuckaleechee. Mal fenced the patrona's emerald brooch – except it turned out to be tourmaline, and only worth sixty platinum. From Mundorojo they picked up a cargo of frozen bull semen, farm implements, and hats to sell on New Hunan.

Once they'd delivered their cargo and refueled the ship on New Hunan, Kaylee Frye, the teenaged mechanic, asked "Should I advertise for passengers, or do you have a job lined up?"

"Got a job waitin' for us back on Mephitis," Mal replied.

"That 'personnel removal' you mentioned?" ZoeWashburn, _Serenity_'s XO, frowned. The job struck the Black woman as too risky, for too little financial reimbursement. Mal's quixotic sense of chivalry woke up at the most inconvenient times. "We planning to pick up any cargo to resell there?"

Mal shook his head. "I wanna be in and out before they know we're there. The patrons on Mephitis only know us as legitimate businessmen. Kinda like to keep it that way, in case we come back."

Zoe nodded, still unconvinced.

"Kaylee, buy up some nutri-bars and a portapotty or two," Mal ordered.

"Nutri-bars and portapotties?" the young brunette repeated.

Mal nodded. "We're gonna fetch some passengers. Already warned 'em they ain't gonna be traveling first class."

**## ### ## ###**

Mal clicked twice on the communicator. He didn't dare speak aloud. Jan might not be alone.

A moment later he heard her voice. She sounded half-asleep. "Captain Reynolds?"

"Yep. Sorry if I woke you. Wanted to call late enough to be sure you were alone."

"I thought you'd forgotten us," Jan told him.

"We were delayed in transit. There's a canyon five miles south of Santiago's house. Can you have your people there forty-eight hours from now?" Mal asked.

"Fifty hours would be safer, or fifty-two. It's a long walk in the dark, after putting in a full day's work in the fields."

"I'll be there in fifty hours. I'll leave in fifty-two hours – sooner if the law comes by. You be there, with three hundred platinum."

"The deal was two hundred platinum," she protested.

"Three hundred, in fifty hours. Take it or leave it. Reynolds out." He turned off the communicator.

**## ### ### ##**

Mal Reynolds counted heads as fifty-six men, women, and children filed aboard his ship. "I told you forty, less if possible."

"You also told us two hundred platinum," Jan retorted.

"Don't complain about the smell if it's more than the sanitation system can handle," he warned.

"We've lived through worse than bad smells." She handed him a small sack. "Three hundred platinum."

He took it without a word and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

"I'm surprised you're not counting it."

"Got the whole trip for that. If you're short, then I just sell a few of Santiago's slaves to make up the difference … startin' with you."

"It's all there," she replied testily.

"Better be," Mal replied.

"That's the last of 'em, Cap," Jayne Cobb shouted. He was a big man, with short brown hair and bulging muscles.

"Tell Wash we're ready to lift. Let's get out of here." Mal gestured to Jan to precede him up the ramp.

"One part of your fee we haven't settled yet, Captain," Jan added reluctantly.

Mal raised an eyebrow.

"Did you want me to report to your cabin now? Or would you prefer to look over the others and then make your choice?"

"You're a client now. Don't do to mix business and pleasure," Mal told her gently. He was a man of scruples – not many, admittedly – but even after six years in the Black, he still had some scruples left. He'd never taken an unwilling woman in his life. Claiming a reluctant female wasn't quite rape, but it was close enough to make him uncomfortable.

Mal turned his back on her – before he had a chance to change his mind – and headed halfway up the stairs. "Listen up."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Next week or so, you're gonna be a mite cozy. You'll have to stay here in the cargo hold. For safety reasons, the rest of the ship is off-limits. Got a doctor aboard. If anyone is hurt or sick, let him know. Got more of you here than we planned on, so space, food, and um, sanitary facilities are gonna be limited. Put up with it as best you can. We'll have you in your new home as quick as we can."


	2. Chapter 2

### ### ### ###

Book stared down at the inedible mess on his plate. He'd prayed over it, of course, but it would take a miracle to turn this slop into dinner.

Even Kaylee, whose youthful appetite would normally let her eat anything, only played with her fork.

Dr. Simon Tan stared in amazement as Jayne Cobb dug into his plate with apparent relish. His biology classes had included the animals on Earth-that-was, and he'd long believed that Jayne had the muscles of an ox, the brain of a turkey, the courage of a hyena, and the ferocity of a wolverine. Now he was forced to add to that assessment the digestive facilities of a goat.

"How can you eat that?" asked Wash, the sandy-haired pilot.

"What?" Jayne asked.

"The question isn't how he can eat it. The question is how anyone can take perfectly good canned vegetables and turn it into this _go-se_?" Zoe wondered aloud.

"What? What's wrong with it?" Jayne asked.

The rest of the crew just stared at him, unable to believe he could be so oblivious to the meal's utter inedibility. Then Mal snapped his fingers.

"We ain't makin' proper use of available resources. Be right back." Mal hurried down to the cargo hold. "Where's Jan?"

"Yes, Captain?" She sat on the deck, four or five children gathered around her.

"Come up here. Wanna talk to you without yelling."

"Yes, Captain." She stood up. She told the children, "I'll finish the story later."

Murmurs of disappointment followed her as she went up to see the captain.

"You interested in earning a few credits?" Mal asked. She nodded, and he continued, "C'mon with me, then." He led her to the galley. "Jayne wrecked dinner. Doubt you could salvage what he ruined, but maybe you could make something else."

She looked around the galley, mentally taking inventory. "Give me half an hour."

"We'll be waitin', and hungry," Mal told her.

Twenty-three minutes later, a pasta and cheese casserole was brought to the table. The crew of _Serenity_ wasted no time in digging in.

"Grab a plate and sit down," Mal invited Jan.

"Captain?"

"Grab a plate," Mal repeated. "You made it; you can help eat it."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't feel right, eating with you when the rest are gnawing nutri-bars."

"Warned you it'd be short rations. Nutri-bars'll keep you alive," Mal said defensively. "Wanna hire you as ship's cook until we reach Hutchins' Moon. Wouldn't be much money, but it'd mean a few credits in your pocket, plus better food."

* * *

"Mmm, that smells delicious," Book complimented her. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No, sir," Jan replied. She gave her attention to the won tons frying in the pan, but after a moment glanced up at the white-haired, dark-skinned man. "Sir? Captain Reynolds called you 'Shepherd.' Is that just a nickname, or are you really a shepherd?"

Book nodded. "I'm a shepherd." In truth he was more than a mere shepherd, but while he was on this combination of a sabbatical and a _wanderjahr_, he had abandoned his ecclesiastical rank. "Do you need spiritual guidance?"

"Could you go down to the hold and talk to the others? We were lucky to see a shepherd two-three times a year on the plantation, and they always used 'render unto to Caesar' or Paul's letters to Titus or the Ephesians about slaves obeying their masters. Nobody would object to hearing about Moses leaving Egypt," she suggested.

"I'd be happy to minister to them. Although perhaps I should take the fourth chapter of Judges for my text."

Jan looked up at him blankly for a moment.

"Deborah," he reminded her.

She smiled and nodded her acceptance of the compliment. "Just doing what I have to. I'm not going to let my children grow up wearing the patron's chains."

"You have children?"

"A boy." She didn't mention the two daughters she'd buried. "He deserves better than spending his life as a field hand."

"Have you spent your whole life on Mephitis?" Book asked.

She shook her head as she scooped the won tons out of the pan. "My parents signed a ten year labor contract when I was a little girl. Papa died of overwork after seven years. Mama worked for the patron fifteen years before she died – he claimed she owed money that she had to work off. I was supposed to be released when I came of age. When he didn't let me go, I walked into town and tried to file a lawsuit for my emancipation. The patron showed up with forged papers that I was a chattel-slave and not just a bond-servant, and the judge ordered me flogged and returned to him."

Mal popped into the galley. "Dinner ready yet? I pay you to cook, not to gossip with the first class passengers."

"Getting everything ready for the table, sir," Jan replied.

"I just came to help her carry things to the table," Book added.

* * *

_Serenity_'s pilot and XO were making out on the bridge. Then a monitor beeped, distracting them. Wash glanced over to see what it was, his hands still roving over his wife's body.

"_Fei-oo_!" he swore. He hit the intercom button. "Mal, we got trouble."

* * *

"We got a problem," Mal announced to the runaway slaves in the hold five minutes later. "Alliance ship just hailed us, want to board us for inspection. We can't out-run 'em, gonna have to try to bluff our way out of trouble."

Everyone started talking at once.

"The children! What about the children?"

"Won't the false papers fool them?"

"Will they take us back to the patron?"

"Quiet!" Jan shouted. She forced her way through the crowd to join Mal. "Captain Reynolds knows what he's doing. Shut up and listen to him."

Mal smiled at her, grateful for the vote of confidence.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she whispered.

His smile faded. Then his brain caught up with his ears. How did these runaway slaves know about his false papers? Unless they weren't referring to _Serenity'_s forged registration and his fake ID …. "What false papers?"

"You didn't tell him, Jan?" asked one of the slaves, a tall blond man.

"Tell me what?" Mal demanded.

"Get the bag," Jan ordered. She turned back to Mal. "We have forged indenture contracts. We thought that way, if we got caught, we'd only forfeit five years instead of the rest of our lives."

"And you didn't tell me about this because ….?"

"I was afraid it might be too much temptation for you," she confessed. "You must have smuggling compartments on a ship like this. Can we at least hide the children?"

Mal shook his head. "Too risky. If they make any noise, the Alliance'll wanna know why they were hidden, when their papers are all in order. Then they might give those forged papers of yours a closer look than either one of us'd like. Besides, it'd take too long to sort out their papers from the rest." Mal did not mention he preferred not to be responsible for twenty-plus children, some of them diapered infants, if the Alliance seized his passengers but didn't arrest him. "Better to brazen it out, pretend you're just a pack of contract-labor traveling steerage." He raised his voice. "Keep your mouths shut. Let me do all the talkin'."

Mal headed back to the bridge, swearing under his breath in both English and Chinese. He wished they could out-run the Alliance craft, but the excessive demands on the life support system and tying the portapotties into the ship's pipes was straining the engines. If they ran, they wouldn't have enough fuel let to make Hutchins' Moon.

"Get Kaylee on the horn. Got a chore for her," Mal ordered Wash.

* * *

"Lt. Wu Deng-shu, _IAV Timminear,"_ the young officer introduced himself. His aristocratic features – the pale skin and epicanthic eyes – and slightly accented English vouched for the fact that Chinese was his native language. Three enlisted men stood behind him; he did not bother to introduce them.

"Captain Leo Jones, of the _Thermopylae." _Mal handed over false papers identifying him as Leonidas Jones.

"Who are these people? And what is that stench?" Wu wrinkled his nose.

"Contract laborers. Gonna be farmhands on Kuan-yin," Mal replied laconically, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

"Why are they in such primitive conditions?" Wu demanded.

"All their bondholder paid for, Lieutenant. That's why it smells so bad," Mal confided. "Client told me thirty; that's all the portapotties are capable of handling. If he'd told me in advance he planned to ship out fifty-some people, I'd've told him the cargo hold was too small for that many. But by the time I found out, it was too late to cancel." Mal shrugged. "I needed the job. It's only for three weeks."

Wu shuddered at the thought of enduring such an odor for nearly a month. "DuBois, Sullivan, search the rest of the ship."

"Yes, sir," the two agreed crisply. One muttered under his breath, "Anything to get out of this stench."

"You're welcome to search the ship," Mal lied; there was nothing he'd like less. "But the smell's all over the ship."

DuBois and Sullivan hesitated. The lieutenant's glare forced them onward.

"I'd start with the bridge if I were you," Mal suggested in a friendly tone. "The stink ain't quite so bad there." And the only thing out of the ordinary on the bridge was Wash's toy dinosaurs.

"You have the appropriate paperwork for these … people?" Wu asked.

"Yes, sir." Mal handed over the forged indenture contracts.

Wu glanced through them as quickly as possible. "I ought to write you up for the conditions your passengers are living in."

"Ain't passengers, sir. Cargo," Mal corrected the young officer as respectfully as possible. "Doing the best I can for 'em under the circumstances."

Wu asked, "Perhaps we could …borrow some of the female workers? My men have been in space a long time. And they would surely be grateful to escape this smell for a few hours."

"If it were up to me, sir, I'd be happy to let you borrow as many as you please. No charge, neither. If it weren't for the Alliance patrols, we independent traders would be risking our lives every time we went out into the Black. But the truth is, theyain't my property. I'm responsible to my client to deliver 'em in good shape. I've had enough trouble with this client, and if I pick 'em up healthy, and then deliver 'em with an STD, or knocked up, I'd never hear the end of it." Mal shook his head regretfully.

Wu's nose wrinkled again. He'd had all of the odor he could stand. He raised his communicator to his lips. "Sullivan, DuBois, did you find anything?"

"All in order, sir."

"Return," the lieutenant ordered. "Thank you for your cooperation, Jones."

Mal forced a smile. "Anything I can do to help the Alliance, sir."

As soon as Wu and his men were off the ship, Mal went to the com-unit. "Kaylee, your stinky worked. Now turn the air filtration system on full blast, so we can get rid of it."

"Sure thing, Cap," the mechanic's voice came over the com-unit.

"Wash, continue on course for Kuan-yin for as long as _Timminear _is watching. As soon as they're gone, resume original course."

"Got it, Mal."

Mal turned back to his passengers and grinned. "We did it, folks. We fooled 'em. Should be smooth sailing from here to Hutchins' Moon."

The runaway slaves cheered.


	3. Chapter 3

Mal saw her in the corridor, headed for the galley. "Jan, c'mere."

"Captain?"

"Got somethin' I wanna show you." He led her to the bridge and waved a hand at the co-pilot's seat, silently inviting her to sit down. "Take a look."

"Oh." She stared for a moment at the giant red sphere. "Is that our new planet?"

"Yes and no. That's your new planet, all right, but it ain't where you're gonna be living. That's Viracocha. It's a gas giant, like Jupiter near Earth-that-was. Got eleven moons, most of 'em uninhabitable. You'll be goin' to Hutchins' Moon."

"I trust it's habitable?" she asked wryly.

"Oh, yeah. Y'see, some of the other moons are rotten for livin' on, but good for minin'. Economy on Hutchins' Moon has two main industries: agriculture, and providin' R&R for the miners. You and your people won't have it easy there, but you'll be free, and you'll be able to find work. Paid work."

"Free." The syllable was more a breath than a whisper, almost too quiet for him to hear.

"It's a little wild," he warned her. "The miners spend two-three days at a time working in a pressure suit. Ain't comfortable. When they go down to Hutchins' Moon, they tend to cut loose and play hard. 'Bout four good-sized towns there: Four Corners, Hutchinsborough, Patricia, St. Mary Mead. They buy and refine the ore, sell mining supplies, buy and process the farmers' crops. Lots of little farming villages, too. No big plantations. No patrons."

"We'll be able to survive there."

"Don't have to go if you don't wanna." She looked up at him, and he continued, "If you wanna stay on as ship's cook for wages, you'd be more than welcome. Proper wages, not the pocket change I'm givin' you now. And you'd be free. Nothing more free than wandering between the stars, tied down to no one and nothing, going wherever you want, the whole 'verse as your backyard."

"You make it sound tempting," she admitted.

"Harder for the Alliance to hit a movin' target. Harder for Santiago to track you down, too. Out in the Black, there's nothin' and no one to hold you back."

"That's what you like the best about space, isn't it?" Jan realized.

Mal nodded.

Jan thought carefully. She decided not to tell him of her suspicions. She wasn't completely sure, after all. The queasy stomach could just as easily be spacesickness. It might be nothing more than stress making her monthlies late. The craving for spinach might be a result of Mal's limited pantry. And the tenderness in her breasts - she couldn't think of a rationalization for that - but it didn't necessarily mean anything.

And even if her suspicions were correct, she owed him too much to tie him down.

"So what do you think? We'd be glad to have you. I may not be the easiest boss to deal with in the 'verse, but I'm a whole lot better than Santiago. And if you don't like it, you can quit any time, make a fresh start on a new planet, with your pocket full of pay." He smiled invitingly.

"If it were just me, I'd say yes. But I have Sean to think of." Regret was in her voice.

"Sean? Your husband?" Mal asked, uneasy at the thought he'd cuckolded a stranger.

Jan shook her head. "My son."

Mal sighed. "A ship ain't the best place to raise a kid."

She nodded. If he felt that way, she definitely wouldn't tell him her suspicions.

"You can read, can't you?"

She nodded.

"Take a look at this." He pulled up an interstellar gazetteer on the computer screen. "You pick where you want to settle."

She skimmed the data: Four Corners in the lowlands, raising cattle and wheat, Hutchinsborough, growing vegetables and grain, St. Mary Mead, on the lake side, with rice and fish as its primary products, Patricia, up in the mountains, with sheep, goats, and fruit orchards.

Mal grabbed the bag with the fake indenture contracts and sorted through them. "Jannet Barrie. This one yours?"

She nodded.

"They got this spelled right?"

"It's supposed to have two Ns."

Mal grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled on it. "Here you go. Letter of recommendation. Don't know if it'll help you get a job, but it can't hurt."

"Jannet Barrie was the best damned ship's cook I ever had. You're an idiot if you don't hire her. Captain Malcolm Reynolds, _Serenity,_" she read aloud. "Thank you."

"If you change your mind, the offer's open," he told her.

Jan smiled. "Maybe when Sean's older, especially if I could get him in a school or apprenticed."

"If I ask again, where do I find you? You pick where we set down."

"Patricia," she decided. "The pictures are beautiful."

"If you can't be in space, mountains are the next best thing," Mal agreed.

"You know how to barbecue, Jan, or do you need a proper oven?" Mal asked.

"I can barbecue."

"We'll be landing in about an hour. I'll call down to the planet, and have a steer waiting. You ain't off-duty till you cook one last meal for the passengers."

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

Green mountains towered over and around the town of Patricia. The smell of roast meat and pine trees mingled with the dust of the makeshift spaceport on the edge of town. The sky was as blue as lapis lazuli, with a few lacy clouds. The air was clean and fresh. All the ore refineries and smelting plants were in Hutchinsborough and Four Corners. Patricia was a farm town, dedicated to apple orchards, sheep, and providing overpriced bed-and-breakfasts to miners who were eager to spend their hard-earned cash and ready to pay three times what food and lodging were worth to relax in the mountains.

"Thankee, Captain. Ain't never et like this my whole life," one of the slaves said.

"Figured after all those nutri-bars you folks deserved a decent meal." Mal reached into a bag. "Jannet Barrie. Where are you, Jan?"

The redhead looked up. "Sir?"

Mal held up her forged indenture contract. He tore it first in two, then in quarters. He threw the pieces into the fire. The ex-slaves gazed at the burning papers in amazement. Mal took the next paper. "Sean Barrie."

A redhaired boy of eight or ten stood up.

Mal tore his papers into pieces, and tossed them in the fire after his mother's. "Luis Borrego." The slaves cheered as they realized what he was doing. "Walter Cahill."

One by one, the papers were demolished, until no trace remained – save the scars on their backs and the scars on their souls – that the fifty-six new citizens of Hutchins' Moon had once been chattel.

"Glad you waited till the meat was done cooking," Jan remarked when he was done. "The stink of that burning would surely have ruined the taste."

"Got too much respect for your cookin' to risk wreckin' it," Mal told her.

Jan shook Mal's hand. "Thank you for everything, Captain. I owe you far more than three hundred plat. Our lives. Our freedom. More than we can ever repay."

He shook his head. "You freed yourself, I was just providin' transport."

"And fooling the Alliance boarding party was nothing?"

Mal just grinned. "Fooling the Alliance is a pleasure; I don't charge for it." He looked her up and down, then glanced to make sure Sean was out of earshot. "Kinda regret not takin' you up on your offer, you and me in my cabin."

Jan took a deep breath, then nodded. "If you want –"

_ "_If you went with me now, I'd never know if you came to my cabin because you thought you had to, or because you felt you owed me, or because you wanted to. Ain't sure you'd know yourself. And I'm vain enough to want a woman who's in my bed to be there because she wants me, and wants to be there. But one of these days, _Serenity_ will make it back to Hutchins' Moon. And if you chose to keep me company during shore leave, then we'd both know."

He kissed her cheek, as gently as he would Kaylee's. "Good luck, Jan."

_finis_


End file.
